Narcissism
by Virtute et Armis
Summary: Sure, Sasuke was a narcissist. In an introspection, however, he discovers the depths of what it means.  hinted Itasasu and maybe Sasusasu


Narcissism

Sasuke remembered that word. What did it mean again? Obsession with one's self, if his memory wasn't failing him, was its technical definition. But, is that truly the definition? Don't we define words by our own actions and our own perceptions? So Sasuke thought about the definition again and realized obsession was most definitely a part of it, but one's self? That one part, that one little bit, it seemed too vague and not encompassing enough. It was the obsession of everything you associate with yourself. And, as he gazed into the mirror, running his fingers down his cheek sensually, a reflection could be an extension. As his finger wove its way across his chest, the beat of his breath like an angelic metronome, he knew that the concept of living was an extension. And as his wandering digit stilled above his heart, the nail digging in to draw out a rivulet of blood, he knew death was an extension as well.

When had he first heard of narcissism? It was most definitely not Orochimaru, although the man had thrown the word at him a few moments ago. What was wrong with narcissism? He _loved_ himself and, by all the philosophies he's studied, that is fundamental in reaching out to others. Yet, Orochimaru had stood firm- no, Sasuke, this is not _right_. Sasuke had been hurt by it, but then started laughing. Had the man, who dedicated his life to others' demises, just defined what was right? The only actions that man could categorize were wrong ones, and even that capacity was doubtful. So Sasuke held strong to the printed words of long dead men- you must love yourself, first, in order to love others.

Still, those phrases had hollow meaning and were not the place he had first heard of narcissism. He began to think, his gaze smoldering and the reflection caught him off guard. He looked at the eyes, which could portray torment beneath a sheen of apathy. He marveled at the mouth that could be stilled, but then pulled into an elusive smirk. And the set of his nose that seemed to pull his face together and keep the accent on his high cheekbones. He looked amazing- as usual- and he got slightly angry with himself (how can _that_ be narcissism?) and thought of his origin of the word. It came to him in a flash when he focused on his eyes.

_Itachi_

He remembered. His father had returned home from a mission with his prodigious son, but he came in first. Mikoto had greeted him, but he nearly and merely tossed her aside. She begged for him to tell her what was wrong, her face pink and twisted- matching the lace of her apron. Sasuke stood stupefied by the counter, dough for the cake they had been baking for his family members' return in his arms. Suddenly the warmth that was radiating in him turned cold as Fugaku's hand struck out and a chair toppled. Between gritted teeth he seethed: "Your son, our son, _my son_, is such a fucking narcissist."

That was when he had first heard the word. It had sounded putrid and ugly and wrong. He thought narcissism must be the greatest sin that could ever be. However, Itachi entered the kitchen, blood streaked on his face and clothes-none of the liquid his own, as always- and narcissism lost its foul connotation. No, the word was shaped into one of love and hope and fraternal feelings. Itachi walked over to Sasuke and guided him out of the room, away from the irate father and weak mother. And as those strong arms pulled him out of harms way, for the millionth time, Sasuke knew narcissism wasn't bad. It was safety. It was Itachi.

Now as he retraced the lines of his face, he saw the similarities between him and his brother. He ran a curious finger over his eye lid, feeling the sharingan vibrate behind the skin as it activated, and glare like a bloody wound in the reflective glass. He dragged his knuckles from his eyes, across his eyes, tracing the lines that were so dominant on Itachi's face. He tangled his hands in his hair, pulling it forward so it looked longer. He examined his work, thinking he was nothing short of beautiful. He rubbed the pad of his finger on his lips, slipping the digit into the slick cavern. He moaned against it, thinking of Itachi and his undeniable love. His tongue curled around the finger, his other hand was quickly tracing other contours he shared with his brother. And as he gripped the one part of himself he could never compare to his brother, the illusion shattered. He stared at himself: flushed, startled, and wanting.

He crashed a fist into the mirror. It shattered into shards and the image was disturbed into a thousand fragments. He saw millions of himself like an insect sees its victim. He, Itachi—it was all so indistinguishable. He reached a hand out, but pulled it back, preferring the illusion- the _delusion_. Sure, narcissism was bad. Being a narcissist could very well be a sin. But, as Sasuke returned to his ministrations, he didn't care. All there was in this world was him, in the end, and the reverie of Itachi and his glorious narcissism.

"I love you." Sasuke whispered as he fully surrendered, not wholly aware to what perceived reflection he was speaking to. But, it very well could be to his brother and could just as equally be to his self. It didn't matter though, because both seemed interchangeable. He flicked between himself and his brother as he rose to the heights of his ignominy. Narcissism is the obsession with the extensions of one's self. And, well, Itachi very much was an extension of Sasuke, if, you know, he wasn't actually _him _in the first place_._


End file.
